


The Composition of a One Wendy Marvell

by PrimordialPaper



Series: You're eighty pounds of wreckage in a mason jar [1]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: BAMF Wendy Marvell, Canon-Typical Violence, Fairy Tail 100 Years Quest Spoilers, Gen, Post-Alvarez Teikoku | Alvarez Empire Arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24364897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrimordialPaper/pseuds/PrimordialPaper
Summary: “Not all girls are made of sugar and spice and all things nice. Some are made of witchcraft and wolf and a little bit of vice.”- Nikita Gill
Relationships: Natsu Dragneel & Gray Fullbuster & Happy & Lucy Heartfilia & Wendy Marvell & Erza Scarlet, Wendy Marvell & Irene Belserion
Series: You're eighty pounds of wreckage in a mason jar [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759168
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	The Composition of a One Wendy Marvell

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly just a self-indulgent blurb about the three ounces of whoop ass that is Wendy. I've always enjoyed characters that are super nice and sweet, but can turn into unholy terrors when they're pushed too far.

Irene Belserion was no stranger to less than ideal living conditions.

She had languished for three years in the dungeons of her own castle.

She had roamed the country aimlessly as a dragon for hundreds more.

She had spent years further still, enduring the unique agony that was the tasteless, sleepless, skin-crawling existence of a dragon masquerading as a human.

Thus, it was with no small amount of contentment that she regarded her current residence within the subconscious of a one Miss Wendy Marvell.

Now existing as a force of personality; less than a spirit, more than a thought-projection, Irene was blissfully free from the prison of scales and Enchanted flesh that was her old body. She savored every decadent moment of consciousness without the sensation of being crammed and bound into a facsimile of her original human form.

It might not have been the same as when she was the sole, commanding occupant of the young Dragon Slayer’s body, but Irene was more than willing to remain a passive presence in the back of the girl’s mind. 

However, that didn’t mean she was above offering her host a few pointers every now and then. Her fellow Enchantress was a prodigy, truly, and it pained Irene to see such tremendous talent be hampered by the lack of a proper mentor. Fortunately, Irene had, quite literally, written the book on Enchantment magic.

“I know of a spell,” she declared in the midst of a scuffle between Wendy and a horde of cultists. Her teammates were sufficiently scattered across the decrepit shrine they’d been enlisted to bring down, and thus out of earshot. “that inflicts terribly painful boils upon the target of your choosing. These men would be more easily dealt with if they were scored with debilitating blisters, no?”

“That’d just be cruel.” Wendy admonished, nimbly evading a mage’s wild sword swipe. In the same motion, she swung her foot up and around to strike her assailant’s head, the following gale bodily hurling him and a few others away. “Our job is to subdue the dark wizards and hold them until the Rune Knights come to arrest them. I can do that without being needlessly vicious.” 

If Irene had retained physical eyes, she would have rolled them. Did this girl not possess even an _ounce_ of spite or fury within her? What was the point of doing battle against such sufficiently distasteful foes- fanatics of Ankhseram- if you didn’t take the opportunity to make them suffer a bit? It’d certainly been more entertaining than her current ‘bash them into unconsciousness’ approach.

In the midst of her apathy, Irene cast her gaze over her surroundings. This could only be the coven’s ritual chamber. It contained all the necessary accoutrement: chisels for carving runes into stone, a skylight to incorporate any lunar or celestial elements, no shortage of candles and braziers, and an intricately drawn latticework of chalk on the floor. It was an aesthetic Irene could certainly appreciate. In the vernacular employed by Wendy and her companions, Irene… stanned? The configuration of the room? Was that the proper term?

Before her mind could descend down the rabbit hole that was this era’s incomprehensible slang terminology, Irene’s attention was caught anew by the chalk lines on the floor. To someone with centuries of experience in all manner of dark magic, like herself, it was clear these patterns were from a particular branch of tributary rites, specifically, one that involved the tithing of proffered souls to a higher, infernal power.

Unease settled in her non-existent stomach at the thought of just what Wendy’s team had interrupted…

Irene was about to suggest as much to the girl, when she felt the cold steel wires of horror twine themselves around her host’s chest and limbs, catching her breath in her throat and binding her legs in place. The Sky Sorceress was struck speechless, paralyzed by the scene her conquest had led her to.

_Gods… Oh gods…_

Through both Wendy’s eyes and a wall of wrought-iron bars, Irene observed two figures huddled together within what looked to be a holding cell of sorts.

One was a bedraggled woman, and the other, clutched desperately in her arms, was a child who couldn’t have been older than six. Their bodies were slack and unmoving, and were it not for Wendy’s advanced hearing picking up their faint breathing, Irene would’ve thought them dead. The gags over their mouths, their humble civilian clothing, and the assortment of scrapes and bruises that littered their bodies were as stark identifiers to their roles as the tags that were affixed to slaughter-approved livestock. 

In the eyes of these cultists, both groups were indistinguishable from each other, it seemed.

With no foes around at the moment, Wendy dashed over to the cell door. With a few muttered words of power, the padlock was summarily torn away by her dainty, glowing hands. Those same hands quickly settled against the two prisoners’ foreheads, thrumming with spectral blue light as she assessed their condition. 

“They’re unconscious- under a sleeping spell, most likely. Based on the level of malnourishment, they’ve been here for a couple of days at most. The boy is in the early stages of a fever. They both have minor injuries, likely from when they were captured, and… lacerations on the feet, so they couldn’t r-”

Wendy went quiet at the sound of numerous approaching footfalls. The hateful presence they carried in the air revealed them to be more cultists.

Slowly, Wendy stood. Her hands had become fists, and shook faintly. The air around her picked up.

Irene could feel the stirrings of something vast and terrible, like the calm just before the onset of a hurricane. If Wendy’s horror was cold wires, then her fury was the hot winds that spun into a storm.

Murmuring under her breath, Wendy summoned a translucent, multi-hued dome over the mother and child, shielding them from any further harm. The candles and torches within the chamber all sputtered out, felled by the tempest now whipping throughout the room. 

More cultists poured into the chamber, guided only by a solitary torch one of them held aloft. They saw that their prisoners- sacrifices- had been discovered. One dark wizard at the mob’s head hurled a roaring ball of flame at Wendy’s back. The attack was dismissed, diffused into little more than a wave of smoke, with a careless handwave from the Enchantress. The smoke was further dispersed when the girl blinked out of sight in a blur of dark blue.

With a high pitched shriek of rending air, Wendy appeared behind the cluster of dark mages, her presence alone more than enough to snuff out the final torch. As the room was plunged into darkness, Irene was able to admit her error in judgement.

Wendy Marvell, at her core, was not a spiteful or vicious girl. It wasn’t in her nature to cause undue harm or misfortune to others. She was a healer at heart. But through that same heart pumped the blood of a dragon. Those healer’s hands were also the instruments of an Enchantress. The powers to mend and maim were both within her purview, and would be employed with the cool ruthlessness of someone who’d decided exactly how much she was willing to take from the world, and exactly what she’d do when that line was crossed.

Wickedness might not be this young witch’s forte, but wrath? Her’s could be as frightful and destructive as the skies she ruled.

* * *

Team Natsu, sans one errant bluenette, had posted up alongside the Rune Knights that had been dispatched to collect the dark mages they’d helpfully rounded up. Under the Fairy Tail mages’ watchful eyes, the slightly singed, starstruck, frostbitten, battered, or otherwise incapacitated cultists were loaded into detainment carriages to be carted off to their awaiting prison cells. 

Natsu and Gray were boastfully comparing the amount of mages they’d taken down (“Open your eyes! My pile’s clearly bigger than yours, Ice Pop!” “Because you went for the biggest guys you could find! In terms of numbers, my pile has the most, Flame Brain!”). Erza looked about ready to intervene, either to break up their dispute, or to claim that her own pile was clearly superior. Lucy was committing to memory the layout and atmosphere of the decrepit temple- it was practically _begging_ to be featured as a setting in her new novel. 

Regardless, all four wizards looked up at the call of, “A little help, please?”

Out of the mouth of the shrine stepped Wendy, who, while looking none the worse for wear, was supporting a bedraggled woman with an arm over her shoulders. With her free arm, the woman clutched a small boy to her chest. In her other hand, Wendy held what looked like a sack of dark cloth.

At once, there was a flurry of activity, with Erza summoning a cushioned chair for the unsteady woman, while Lucy helped ease her into it. Gray was alerting the Rune Knight’s Captain of the presence of civilians, while Natsu tore back into the temple to check for any other remaining scents. 

“Ma’am, are you alright? Are you injured?” Erza urged the woman, who had begun crying silently as she held her son close.

“N-no, no. I was, b-but she-” still freely crying, the woman’s gaze sought out Wendy’s, and she reached out to clasp her hand. “You saved us. Thank you, oh _thank you_!” 

Wendy’s smile was a soft, warm thing, and she gave the woman’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Of course.”

Before more could be said, the Knight’s Captain stepped in, offering the names of two missing residents from a nearby town, to the enthusiastic confirmation of the woman; Rose Perkins, and her son; Adam. 

From the side, the Fairy Tail mages listened as Wendy explained in low tones how she’d discovered the two townspeople imprisoned, mended their injuries, before leading them out of the shrine.

“You conducted yourself very well, Wendy.” Erza commended, laying a hand on the girl’s shoulder, only for a frown to pull at her face. “I must ask, though, where are the cultists you subdued? We’ve yet to reach the number of dark mages specified in the job request form.”

Wendy’s expression was blank for a moment. Then her eyes went wide. “Oh!” she held up the cloth sack- closer inspection revealed it to be one of the black robes worn by the cultists- she’d carried with her out of the temple. “They’re here.”

Her teammates’ faces paled, expressions’ ones of almost comical horror as they gazed, frozen, at the small bluenette. Not that Wendy noticed. Her attention was focused on undoing the knot she’d tied in the makeshift sack now resting at her feet. 

“I would’ve smelled severed heads, _I would’ve smelled severed heads_ -”

“We should’ve never let her hang out with Gajeel!”

“It’s even worse than I envisioned! Wendy you’re too young to go to prison!”

The group’s panicked muttering was cut off when the sack fell open, it’s contents revealed.

Lucy shrieked.

Natsu and Gray both grimaced in disgust.

Even Erza took a step backwards.

Upon the rumbled black fabric was a pile of gleaming, squirming slugs. Small, dark, slimy slugs.

Expression uncharacteristically dark, Wendy snapped her fingers. 

“ _Deus Zero_.” 

There was a great puff of smoke, which then dispersed to reveal a pile of dark mages in place of the glistening gastropods. Some were unconscious, and all bore marks indicating that, before being transfigured into slugs, they’d received quite a thrashing.

“Now, you have an idea of how things felt for the two innocent people you held captive. Helpless and at someone else’s mercy.” Wendy’s voice, normally soft and gentle, carried with it an undercurrent of both crackling magic and simmering wrath. “Now to see if you’ve learned anything.” a hand brimming with pulsing green light was held aloft. “Are you going to surrender quietly to the Rune Knights, or do you want to be taken into custody as slugs?”

The single menacing step forward that followed her question was all it took before those cultists that were conscious nearly trampled their companions in their haste to put distance between themselves and the enraged Enchantress. Luckily, after recovering from their own moments of horror and disgust, the surrounding Rune Knights moved in to take them into custody.

Letting out a sigh, Wendy turned back to her companions, looking sheepish and scratching the back of her head. “When I saw they’d kidnapped Ms. Perkins and her son, what they were going to do to them, I sort of… lost my temper a bit. I thought that they ought to look as vile on the outside as they are inside, and see how they like being trapped and helpless. Slugs were the first thing that came to mi-”

“Miss Marvell!” the Captain called out from beside Rose Perkins and her son. “If you don’t mind, Adam here says he wants to say ‘thank you’.”

“Oh, of course!”

As the rest of Team Natsu observed Wendy crouch down to meet eyes with the young boy, smiling kindly as he stuttered out an expression of gratitude, they felt themselves relax. Their little Sky Sorceress certainly wasn’t one to be trifled with, but in terms of the composition of Wendy Marvell: witchcraft and whirlwinds took up much less space within her than that which was allotted to healing charms and gentle breezes.


End file.
